


The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning

by spacemonkey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, Crucifixion, M/M, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 03:46:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2908181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey/pseuds/spacemonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The 66th seal breaks. At the end of time no one has anything left to lose.  Written back during Season 4</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This was written not long after the mid Season break in Season 4, for a fic exchange. The prompt given to me is the same as the summary. Since I wrote this before The Rapture aired and we found out about Jimmy, Castiel's vessel is given a different name.

Outside the window, Dean knew it should have been dark. It was all of four thirty am and Bobby’s place wasn’t exactly Vegas, where the flashing lights made sure tourists forgot what dark was. But he could see his car clearly, bathed in red like all the cars in the yard, and he could see trees in the distance, red as well, and if he listened hard enough, Dean could hear screaming.  

It felt like home, to that sick part of him that he’d tried to bury down deep, alongside the memories of those last ten years down there, where he’d been almost gleeful. Dean looked up at the sky, and between the clouds, he couldn’t see stars, all that existed was red. He tried to look past it, straight up to heaven, and that was impossible, but he tried for all of a minute, because Castiel was maybe out there somewhere, and yeah, Dean had to admit, he needed the guy. 

“Dean?” 

“What is it, Sam.” Dean didn’t turn, just kept staring up at the sky. He knew what Sam was going to say already, and Dean wasn’t sure if he was surprised that Sam wasn’t eager to get out there. To fight, to lose, to just do something. To at least try. 

“Come on, man. It’s not safe out here.” Sam tugged on his arm, held on tight, and Dean considered shoving him hard, but instead he nodded, gave one last look at the sky, and closed the curtain.  

“Yeah,” he said, and they bumped shoulders once or twice on the way back to Bobby’s panic room, Sam giving Dean a constant look that was teetering on the edge of defeated, and Dean stopped looking at his brother once the door was shut behind them. Bobby was asleep, somehow, on the narrow bed wedged up against the wall, and Dean flopped down onto the double mattress on the floor that passed as their bed, one blanket and all, and he turned his back on Sam. 

“I don’t think we can stay here forever,” Sam said, once he was lying down as well, and that was something to pique Dean’s interest.  

He rolled over and faced Sam, making out his face in the dim light coming from the candle burning on the messy desk. Fire hazard, Dean was sure, but walking outside was a goddamn fire hazard and it wasn’t like they had any electricity to turn on a freakin lamp or something. Sam’s jaw was set tight, but his eyes were wide like he was eight years old again. “Sammy’s scared,” Dean teased. It was the stupidest thing he’d done in a long while, but at the very least, it got Sam’s eyes to narrow. 

“Of course I’m scared, dick, I’m more than scared, I’m terrified. That out there,” Sam pointed at the wall, rolled his eyes when Dean cocked an eyebrow, and dropped his hand, “Past the wall, Dean! Outside, that is straight out of Book of Revelation.” 

“I don’t see any locusts or sores on your face or anything. Right now,  _The Mummy_ has us beat in the plague department.” Dean sighed at the glare his brother was sending his way. “I know. Okay? For god sakes, Sammy, I’ve seen this all already, I know what it’s like to have a sky that colour, or to have nice little lakes of fire and blood and things you can’t even imagine, alright? Forty years down there, you think I didn’t get the occasional field trip out of that room to have a peek around?” 

Sam dropped his glance. “No, actually. You never mentioned that.” 

“Well, it didn’t happen often. But Alastair.” Dean scrubbed his face with his hands. “Look, it doesn’t matter anyway. We’re screwed, Sammy. Simple as that. And you’re right. We can’t stay in here forever. But, I dunno. I wanna fight, sure. More than anything, I want to get those sons of bitches the hell off  _our_ planet, but the three of us against, like, a million of them? Not to mention their boss.” 

“Castiel-” 

“Castiel is dead, Sam!” Dean snapped. Bobby made a noise from his bed, annoyed no doubt, and he’d probably been awake for a while, but Dean found himself dropping his voice anyway to settle him. “Probably.” 

“We don’t hear from him in a while and you immediately jump to that conclusion?” 

It had been months.  _Months._ Castiel had done that before, stayed away without so much of a howdy, but that had been before. When Dean had been pissed with him. About Anna. About a lot of things. And had still saved his damn life. Castiel had blown out a few lights when he’d shown up next, more for dramatic effect than anything, Dean had thought. Or maybe he’d come back from heaven electrocharged or something. They’d never really talked about it, Dean had just been glad at the time, what with the group of demon’s kicking his ass and all. Yeah, it had been a good day then. 

Dean felt like crying. 

“In the middle of the freakin apocalypse, sure I do.” He hadn’t yet. Cried. Not for a while, not even when this whole damn thing had started, but right then and there, he could have cried easy. Wanted to, because he’d been willing Cas to be alive, almost believed it if he wanted it to be true, but he was blinking back tears and Sam was glancing away like the whole thing was too painful and uncomfortable for him to look at. 

“You two chuckleheads wanna keep it down over there?” Bobby grumbled, and Dean could have kissed him. “Apocalypse or not, I’d still like to get a decent night’s sleep, if you don’t mind.” 

“Yeah,” Sam said apologetically, and Bobby grunted in response. 

“Hey Bobby,” Dean spoke up after a minute of nothing but breathing and shifting on their beds to find the most comfortable position. “You heard from Pamela lately?” 

“What, you mean by email? Or by the phone that isn’t working?” 

Dean frowned. “I mean before. You know, when everything was working.” 

“She’s fine. Nothing can take down Pamela Barnes. Not losing her eyes, not anything,” Bobby muttered, shifting on the bed again. 

“I guess. I mean, I hope so. I hope she’s okay.” 

“Dean,” Bobby warned, and Dean shut up for real that time. Sam rolled over, his back to Dean, curled around himself like he was freezing his ass off, and that was pretty much impossible. The room wasn’t as well ventilated as Bobby liked to boast, and Dean found himself sweating in the middle of October. 

He didn’t sleep that night though, just lay there and listened to Bobby snore and Sam toss and turn. Tried to keep his mind off of everything. Listed Zeppelin’s entire discography twice over, moved on to Metallica, and lost track by  _Reload_ when his thoughts turned straight back to Castiel. They hovered there a lot, when he wasn’t thinking about Sam or Dad or Before, and Dean supposed Cas had been a big part of Before. Towards the end anyway. It had just been them for a couple of months there. After Sam had took off. . .  

Dean rolled over, facing his brother, and smiled faintly when he realized Sam had finally fallen asleep. Bout time. He tried to match their breathing, but it just wasn’t as easy as it used to be, when Sam had been little and wheezing because his nose was always blocked except for the times when it was running and he’d wipe it on his sleeve.  It was part of being a kid, Dean thought, even though back then, he’d just thought it was gross.  

He rolled onto his back after a few more minutes, then onto his side again, before slipping out of the room and down the hallway to the bathroom.  

It was a stupid idea, but sometimes Dean just had to get out of that room, or he was sure he was gonna suffocate. He was used to being cooped up, sure, but in the car, or in a motel. Not in there. Guy needed his privacy sometimes. 

Dean locked the door behind him. He checked the salt lines on the window sill, and then stripped off his clothes, kicking them into the corner in a messy pile. They didn’t have running water anymore, but Bobby had hooked up a working shower on his own, in a way that Dean was pretty impressed with. The stream sucked, and the water was tepid at best, but it was still a shower.  

He stepped under the stream, holding back a cry when the water that hit his body was still freezing, but he got used to it eventually and just stood there. Dean wondered what would happen if a demon broke in and killed him in the shower. He wondered how Sam would react. He wondered if Castiel was really dead. 

It had been hard, those months alone with him coming back and forth. Dean could remember a time when he hadn’t liked the guy, the  _angel._ He could remember thinking he wasn’t so bad. And then, out of nowhere, he had realized that maybe he was one half of a duo, straight out of a buddy movie, if you replaced the cop or criminals with a hunter and an angel. And less wacky hijinks. 

Dean kind of missed buddy comedies. 

It had struck him one day, when Castiel had turned up in his dream instead of reality, looking lost and confused and leaving Dean even more lost and confused, that he had grown fond of the guy. Angel. They were buddies. Comrades. Friends. Dean had thought so at the time, and maybe he’d been reaching because Sam was gone. 

He’d searched three days for Castiel, found him with Alastair. Bloodied, like a goddamn corpse, and Alastair had laughed and laughed about how he’d found a weapon that Castiel didn’t like.  _Like pouring acid on a baby,_ he’d said. 

Alastair didn’t make it out of that room. But Dean had carried Castiel out, trembling and naked. He’d propped him under the shower until he’d realized it wasn’t going to work, and went for the bathtub instead. It was horrible, but he’d dumped Castiel in a bath filled with holy water, and he’d screamed and burned and Dean had held him down until the water was red and the bleeding had stopped. 

Castiel had opened his eyes and looked at him. He’d smiled, and Dean had just shook his head. 

Dean groaned, fingers wrapped around himself, and he let his head fall back, the cool water hitting him in the face and getting in his eyes. He whipped his head around, flinging the water away and moved his hand faster, thinking of the smile, the way Castiel had said his name, later when he was fine, and Dean choked back a sob when he came. 

They played cards for a while the next day, made their way through the piles of books Bobby kept in his house, and ate from the cans Bobby had stocked up on. Cans and bottles upon bottles of water. If there was a word to describe Bobby, it was prepared. For a rainy day, for an apocalypse, for pretty much anything.  

A few more days of that and Dean had pretty much gone stir crazy. He knew all there was to know about Chupacabra’s and Bigfoot, things he’d already been well versed in to begin with, and more than enough on pretty much anything else written in those dusty and stupidly heavy books, and he was considering breaking out the Bible. For moral support, to beat his boredom, one or the other. But that was probably too depressing, given the situation, even though Sam insisted it might be uplifting and helpful. Dean flipped through it anyway, read a few passages here and there, and some of it seemed familiar to him, until the candle burned out and he was bathed in darkness.  

Bobby and Sam were both sleeping, and Dean considering doing the same, but instead he fumbled in the dark for a new candle, and when he couldn’t find any, he shrugged on a jacket, opened the door as quietly as he could and headed down the hallway to Bobby’s bedroom, where Dean knew there were some spares in the third drawer from the top. Right under the spare gun and the crumpled picture of Bobby’s wife. 

He could see pretty well with the off red tint shining through the open curtains, and that colour was a blessing for once. Dean fumbled through the drawer, found the last three candles in there, and hoped to God that Bobby had some more stashed somewhere in the house, otherwise they were going to have to do a candle run to the nearest store, and that was a ways a way, or live in darkness. Neither of those options seemed like a good idea to Dean. The last store run had been hell on Earth, literally, and he’d gotten away with a concussion while Sam had been laid up for a good couple of weeks. That had been a bit of a turning point, right there. Dean had been eager, Samhad been all for it, going out in a blaze of glory, but sitting there watching his brother not wake up? Dean had to confess it was better than not existing at all. 

They’d gotten lazy after that. Huddled inside, not wanting to risk it. Dean liked it sometimes. He felt like a coward most times. Staring out the window, wondering  _what would dad think of me giving up?_  

And then sometimes he didn’t care either way.  

He rolled the candles in his hands, then closed the drawer with his elbow, pulled himself to his feet, and turned towards the door. 

Castiel smiled thinly at him, and Dean dropped the candles. They hit the floor with three separate thuds. “Hello Dean.” 

“Jesus Christ, Cas,” Dean choked out after a minute of struggling to find the right words, and failing miserably, and he almost slipped on one of the candles when he stepped on it, but managed to regain his footing enough to continue. He stopped just inches from Castiel, toeing the line there. 

Dean kind of wanted to hug the guy, but he barely even hugged his own brother, and he didn’t know how Castiel would react to a hug anyway.  Maybe he’d just stand there, maybe he’d hug back, Dean just wasn’t sure, and it didn’t matter anyway. He beamed at Castiel, brightly and dumbly, and for the first time since the 66th seal was broken, Dean thought he might even have felt  _happy._  

It passed quickly. Castiel didn’t return his smile, the thin one that had graced his face briefly before dropped completely, and he looked worn. Clothes rumpled and stained, bags under the eyes that were worse than usual, and Dean could make out flecks of blood here and there from where he’d most likely healed, but not cleaned well enough.   

“What happened? What’s going on?” 

Castiel didn’t answer. His glance fell to the ground, and with a sigh Castiel walked over to Bobby’s messy bed and sat down. 

“We’re losing,” Dean said. “I mean, we already lost the first round. First, second, twelfth, whatever. But we’re losing this round.” Castiel nodded, and Dean murmured, “The last round.” 

“We are greatly outnumbered, Dean.” 

“You guys were greatly outnumbered before the pit opened.” Dean sat down next to Castiel, sitting on the edge of his coat, and Castiel didn’t make a move to pull it out from under him. “You don’t think you guys can win this, do you?” 

“That’s not something I wish to answer.” Castiel looked up from the ground, their eyes meeting, and he shook his head slowly. “I don’t.” 

Dean nodded. He’d suspected that anyway. Apocalypse had kind of a final sound to it, unless you were Buffy anyway.  It was bogus information to deal with, the end of the world, and he’d had time already to start accepting, but it hadn’t happened yet. It was too big. Something Michael Bay would pump out over and over again, but in those movies, the world always was saved at the last minute.  

It didn’t look that way here. Dean had seen it, seen the pit open from a distance. The three of them, they’d been arguing about whether to go in and take Lilith head on, or go somewhere safe and let the angel’s take care of it. It had been too dangerous, Castiel had insisted, and Sam had gotten up in his face while Dean was torn. Was like being in the middle of his father and Sam all over again, except Castiel was way more intimidating when he needed to be.  

Castiel had frozen mid sentence, and that had scared Dean more than seeing his body broken, because it had to be  _big,_ and Sam had snapped at him, swearing until Dean had pulled him back. 

It had been like a nuke going off. Dean had ended up on the ground, three feet away with Sam’s foot landing right in his crown jewels, and Castiel had stayed upright, coat flapping in the wind, looking off into the distance like he was in the middle of a painting or something, and he’d turned to Dean and looked as terrified as an angel could manage.  

Dean had nearly crapped himself. But he hadn’t had much time, Castiel had grabbed them both, told them to stay safe and  _hide,_ and Dean had blinked and they’d been four miles away in the car. It was easy for angels to do things like that. A lot of things were easy for angels. 

Dean tightened his hands into fists, suddenly bitter. “Not that it matters to you guys, anyway,” he said. “You guys can just wander straight back up to heaven and hang out there for the rest of eternity, and eventually you might even forget that there once was a planet called Earth.” He deflated before he reached the end of his sentence, because it was a stupid thing to begin with, and his hands fell loose at his side. 

“I have lost countless brothers who have died trying to save this planet, Dean. More will fall before this is all over, many more. What else can we do to prove to you that we care?” Castiel sighed, sounding more tired than angry, and he stood, coat dragging out from under Dean, and walked over to the window. He looked out at the red sky in silence, and then murmured, “It matters, Dean. Whether you want to believe me or not, it matters to us.” He closed the curtains abruptly, and they were covered in darkness. 

_Great, because that’s useful._ Dean fumbled in his pockets for his lighter, but before he could find it the room became light again.  

Castiel set the lit candle down on the side table carefully, and took a step back to admire it. 

“How did you,” Dean started, stopping when he realized it was a stupid question. Guy could bring people back to life and uproot trees without breaking a sweat. Lighting a candle with his mind was amateur work, no doubt. Dean stood, knees cracking to remind him his body wasn’t so new anymore, and he joined Castiel at the table. “That’s better than looking outside, I’ll give you that much.” 

Castiel looked away from the candle, his eyes brightened by the close flame, and Dean fought the urge to glance elsewhere. It freaked it out sometimes, that look, and more than that, it turned him on. There was so much power in one look, and Dean had witnessed that power first hand. Hell, the handprint on his shoulder proved that he’d been touched by one hell of a powerful angel.  Dean swallowed, but he didn’t look away. 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, and Dean could tell he really meant it. Not from how he said it, because his voice rarely gave things away, but he could see in Castiel’s eyes that, yeah, he was sorry. Real sorry.   

“So am I.” 

“I will stand by your side till the very end, Dean,” Castiel said, as if he was ordering an entree instead of talking about his own demise. “If that helps you  _deal_ with this _,_ I suppose you would say.” 

It didn’t. And it did. Dean stared at Castiel, sad and pissed off and pleased and bug eyed. “If it helps me  _deal_? You’re gonna die here just so you can help me deal?” 

“I would die here either way. Leaving, returning to heaven, I refuse to do that.” Castiel smiled wanly at the candle, and then closed his eyes. “Whatever you decide, I won’t leave you, Dean. Not now, not before when I last told you this.” 

Dean was going to regret saying it, because Castiel was pouring his heart out, in the only way an angel could – end of the world talk – but he had to. “But you did,” he said, voice cracking, and boy was that embarrassing. “You left straight after the last seal broke, barely even saying a see ya before you  _poofed_ into thin air, Cas.” 

“I  _left_  to try and save your world. This body left. But I was always with you.” Castiel reached up and tapped Dean’s temple with his fingertips. He let his hand drop slightly, down to Dean’s cheek and it stayed there until Dean finally got it.  

“Right.” He swallowed and Castiel let his hand drop back down. Dean kind of wished he’d left it there, and he swallowed again. Friggen lump in his throat. He glanced towards the door, wondering just how long they’d been in Bobby’s room and away from Sam. Right out where it wasn’t safe. 

“They won’t harm you here, Dean,” Castiel said. Reading his mind again. Dean hated that. “Not now.” 

“What, you mean we could have just been living out in the rest of the house all this time? Instead of that damn room?” 

“No,” Castiel said simply. 

It was like talking to a brick wall sometimes. But Dean found himself laughing, despite that. Despite the entire situation. End of the world and everything, and Castiel didn’t laugh with him.  “You’re so weird,” Dean chuckled, and Castiel cocked his head to the side. “Bet you think I’m the weird one though.” 

Castiel just smiled. It wasn’t much of a smile, more of a tiny smirk when he did it, but Dean always thought it was progress when he showed any emotion at all. “Angels are freaking weird, “Dean muttered, more to himself, and he wasn’t laughing anymore. Castiel turned back to the candle, the light dancing on his face, picking up the lines around his mouth and eyes, laugh lines from his vessel’s life. He’d been happy, once. “What’s your vessel like?” 

“He likes you.” 

“Well, that’s great. Does he know he’s going to die?” 

“Yes.” 

Dean bit his lip. He toyed with asking the next question, because he knew his answer to it, he knew Sam’s answer, Bobby’s, and now he knew Castiel’s. But the vessel was a foreign voice, on a different level perhaps, and Dean didn’t know. Perhaps it was a stupid question.  

He asked anyway. "Does he think there’s any way we can win this?"

“He hopes.” 

And that was a different answer than Dean had heard for a while, anyway. He felt his heart hammer in his chest at the thought. The vessel, he was an innocent. He’d seen the horrors of everything, but he was still innocent, like a person Dean might have saved before.  

He’d seen everything Castiel had seen. And he was still hopeful. Reassuring Dean. It should have been the other way, and Dean looked away. “Well, that’s a lot of info about your vessel there, Cas.”Dean paused. “He likes me, huh?” 

Castiel considered the question. He shrugged slightly, in a way that he’d learnt either from the vessel or Dean, and said, “He thinks you need to rest.” 

Dean laughed bitterly. “Well, I think he needs to rest. Have you seen yourself lately? You look like crap, man.” He held up a hand before Castiel could say anything. “And don’t give me that ‘I don’t need to rest’ spiel, I’ve seen you sleeping.” 

“When I was injured. I’m fine now.” 

“Fine. Yeah.” Dean huffed out a breath, glancing around the room, checking the salt lines, the candle, the size of the bed, before letting his gaze fall back onto Castiel. Blue eyes stared back at him evenly, and Dean was sure that Castiel already knew what he was going to say. He swore he didn’t read minds, but it was the one thing that Dean didn’t believe. There was intuitive, and then there was freaky.  

Dean said it anyway. “We’re not going to both fit in the panic room. Not with Sam taking up all the room, anyway. So I guess we’re stuck in here then. Because you know I’ll need someone to watch over me. Make sure I don’t get attacked during the night and all.”  He took off his jacket and tossed it onto the chair. “And I’d want you to be comfortable, so . . . That is, if you’re staying.” 

“I am.” Castiel cocked his head to the side, something he seemed to do a lot, and Dean knew he was listening. He blinked, then looked at Dean and repeated, “I am.” 

“Good.”  

They stood there, staring at each other until Dean said, “Awkward” under his breath, and made a move towards the bed. Castiel followed, taking off his coat for the first time since Alastair had taken it off for him. Dean paused and looked at Castiel. He could still see him, up on that cross, and the fucking nails jammed in. Alastair had been excited about the whole thing. Found it hilarious.  _Brings back a few memories, this does. You just have to love this sort of blasphemy, Dean. You especially love it, I know you do._  

“Dean.” 

Dean readied a brief smile and pulled back the covers. “I haven’t shared a bed with a guy other than Sammy, is all.” 

“It’s only a bed.” 

And it’s only the end of the world. And that had only been a crucifixion. Dean swallowed, looking towards the window, but the curtains were closed, and he nodded. “Yeah.” 

They climbed in together, Castiel’s feet clad only in socks, and Dean had missed him taking his shoes off. He breathed deep, Bobby’s bed smelling musty and homely, and Dean said, “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t want to die.” 

Castiel didn’t answer. Dean thought maybe he didn’t know how. Angel’s didn’t do emotion well, and Dean chewed on the inside of his mouth. “I feel like a coward,” he admitted after he’d started to taste blood. “I’ve let Sam down. I’ve let the whole fucking world down. I’ve let you down. And  _God_.  Bring me back to life to make a difference, and this is how I help? By hiding in tiny room until the world goes under?” Dean snorted. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

“You did make a difference,” Castiel said after a beat. Dean waited for him to go on, but apparently he didn’t have anything else to say.    
 

Dean could relate. Although he was more worried that if he said anymore, he wouldn’t be able to stop. And there might be tears and screaming, and it’s probably why the three of them hadn’t talked too much since they’d been at Bobby’s.  

It’s what the end of the world was all about, according to movies and shows and the occasional book that Dean picked up. Crying and going down in flames, and being irresponsible because there was nothing left to lose. 

Dean closed his eyes. He was tempted to go back to the panic room. Check on Sam. Lie back down next to his brother and sleep there until he didn’t have a ground to sleep on anymore. He was worried Sam would wake up and wonder where he was.  He was tired, but he was wired as well, and it left him feeling weird. Like he’d had way too much coffee and he hadn’t touched the stuff in forever. He listened to Castiel breathe, trying to settle himself, and it was so soft he almost couldn’t pick up on it, but it was there.  Dean hadn’t really ever thought about Castiel breathing, until he had sat there, watching and waiting for the guy to wake up, and measuring his every breath. It had been soothing.  

It wasn’t working this time. It had stopped working then, whenever Castiel woke up and looked at him, or Dean remembered the way he’d smiled, and it was wrong. It was so fucking wrong.  End of the world wrong.  

“Would God forgive you?” Dean asked, quietly. Castiel stayed silent, and Dean opened his eyes to the candle light dancing across the walls, thought  _what the hell_ because they were damned anyway, and rolled over.  

Castiel was waiting for him, eyes wide and curious and he kissed hard and open, hand wrapped around Dean’s wrist, holding him close until Dean took over.  He didn’t bother undressing completely, just undid his pants, and Castiel’s, fumbling because he was overtired and had never done this with a guy before. Castiel wasn’t a guy though, he was an angel, staring straight into Dean’s eyes with his hair mussed and lips parted, and Dean stopped the inquisitive stare with another kiss, wrapping his hand around the both of them, and Castiel took in a shuddering breath as they moved together. Angel’s shouldn’t make noises like that, Dean knew, and it was better than silence and he gasped like he did in the shower, better, and let his free hand find Castiel’s hair, digging in and wrapping around the messy strands until Castiel tightened his grip on Dean’s waist and cried out in a language Dean didn’t understand, but he’d heard it before, when Castiel had been bleeding in the bath, in pain, and damnit if that didn’t turn him on all the more. 

It was fast and messy, the way spontaneous sex often is, and somehow satisfying, even as Dean was torn between feeling like a sick bastard and  _we should do that again._ He didn’t know if they’d get a chance though, if Castiel would even want to, but his thoughts were silenced when Castiel pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, and Dean closed his eyes and nearly let the floodgates open.

He released his grip on Castiel’s hair, moved his hands until they were pressed between their torsos, awkwardly, and Dean fought the urge to move, but Castiel caught him before he could do anything.  

Fingers tickled at the hem of his shirt, lingering there for a moment before Castiel gripped and pulled upwards. Dean went with it, lifting his body and helping get the shirt over his head, and Castiel dropped the material to the floor. Dean didn’t know what was happening, if it was round two, or if Cas was going to tear off his skin next, but he was surprised when it happened.  

Castiel slid his hand up Dean’s arm, slow and all the while trying to keep Dean’s gaze, still open and trusting, until his hand reached the handprint that he’d left there forever ago. It was like an electric shock, and Castiel pressed forward, kissing Dean softly until Dean lost himself. 

He saw himself. Before, when he’d thought he wasn’t happy and hadn’t known what true depression really felt like. Just a kid, saving people, countless people, some with faces, others he couldn’t quite remember, but he could see them too, and people he hadn’t saved. People he’d known, people he’d hated. His dad dying, his dad alive. Bobby. His mom was in there somewhere, a fake memory, and one he was sure was real, even if dad had insisted that he was too young to remember when she was pregnant with Sam and holding her stomach while Dean felt his brother kick. Sam wiping his nose on his sleeve when he was old enough to know better, worried about the monster under his bed, angry about the test he got a B+ on, and Sam yesterday, so defeated.  

He pulled away from Castiel with a gasp, choking on the air that was so thick around him until he almost fell out of the bed.  

“Dean.” 

Dean looked at Castiel, remembered him up on that cross, in the fucking bathtub bleeding when he shouldn’t have been hurt in the first place because he was a damn angel, and he remembered their first meeting when he’d stabbed him with Ruby’s knife, and Dean knew there was still a person behind those eyes.  

He was going to lose it all. The entire planet was going to lose it all. Dean swallowed, and it felt like razorblades. “What’s his name?” he asked thickly. “Your vessel.” 

“Daniel.” 

Dean nodded. Daniel, the guy who still had hope. He rubbed his eyes, so ridiculously tired, and then nodded again, to himself this time. “First thing tomorrow,” he said, sitting up. “We’re going hunting. First thing tomorrow.” 

Castiel gazed up at him, and he smiled.


End file.
